Adrift
by gnbrules
Summary: Part of you really believed that he'd stop you from leaving. Tag to 15x3. Cas 2nd person POV. Destiel angst.


**Adrift**  
**Summary: Part of you really believed that he'd stop you from leaving. Tag to 15x3. Cas POV. Destiel angst.**

Part of you really believed that he'd stop you from leaving. That you'd make it to the door and he'd say your name in that sad mournful way of his, and then he'd say sorry for what he said, that he didn't mean it, and you would say it's okay, you know and understand. You'd say you're sorry too, for Mary and Jack and for not being good enough to keep them safe as you promised. And he'd cry it out on your shoulder and you'd be strong for him, hold him until the broken pieces of both of you mended into something salvageable.

But he never calls you back, never says your name, and the door to the bunker closes with a resounding click behind you.

It's only when you make it to your truck that you fully realize how there's absolutely nowhere for you to go.

Heaven has not been home for so long and you're far from welcome there.

The bunker is theirs. _His._

There are hunters you know who once lived in the bunker as well, but the ones still alive have no trust for an angel and you don't blame them. They only ever tolerated you because a few people they admired once vouched for you.

You wonder vaguely where the other Charlie might have ended up. You're little more than a stranger to that girl from another world, but you can't help but think of the one you knew. She had always had an incredibly kind soul and you know she probably would have taken pity on you. Put you up and talked to you, about Dean and about your fading powers and the grief you feel pressing in on all sides. But this other Charlie did not sign up for that, wouldn't understand, and you'll be damned before you try to burden that sweet woman who had the good sense to stay away from you all.

Maybe you should pull a Dean. Find the nearest bar and drink them out of stock, drink until even your angel tolerance is blackout numb.

Hell, maybe you'll find a woman, probably some desperate prostitute, and she'll be all too willing to distract you and take your money.

The idea revolts you, but it would be something. Anything better than being alone in your own skin, your own head.

This is what it's like to belong to nothing and no one. Your line is cut, and you are unanchored from them, from everything. Pushed and pulled by the whims of an unforgiving tide.

You hate this.

You find yourself missing sleep from the days of your brief humanity. You just want to rest. What would be even better would be the eternal, dreamless sleep you've been promised. The Empty has staked it's claim and you'd welcome it now, the nothingness. But you know it won't take you like this. It wants you happy so the punishment can matter. It will not take you while this hateful misery is etched in your every bone and seeping from you like some foul odor.

As it turns out, The Empty may end up waiting on you for a very long time after all. Perhaps forever.

You end up driving away just for something to do, something to focus on. You speed too much, but it's late and there's no one else on the road. You try so very hard not to think about driving these same roads with the boys, sitting backseat while the two laughed and bickered about where to stop for lunch.

There's a mixed CD in the truck's dash that you can't bring yourself to play because he made it for you. You can't believe the same man who looked back at you with such disdain once cared enough to share his music with you. He once gave you a piece of himself that you could take wherever you might go.

You hate him for it.

You hate yourself for not being able to toss the damn CD out the window.

You stop a few times for gas but that is all. The sun comes up as you drive and you ease up on the pedal. However much you might welcome a crash, there is traffic now and hurting another human (again) is something you cannot abide.

Sioux Falls is a reminder of better times, and you didn't exactly plan it, but you find yourself there anyway. There's a slim chance you'll find a friendly face, and you'll take those odds.

You don't want to burden _her_, either, but there's nowhere else. You know her love and loyalty is for the boys, but for you she is still a beacon of something right in this world. A kickass hunter, an amazing caretaker, a kind and resilient soul.

Whenever she opens her door to you, there's a look of concern on her face, and you understand why. "Castiel. Is everything okay? Sam and Dean -?"

_No, nothing is okay,_ you think. "The boys are fine," you answer. "No one is currently in danger. I just wanted - can I come in?"

You must look a mess because she can't stop surveying your face, looking for an answer as to why an angel is on her doorstep. "Yes, of course."

And that's how you find yourself at Jody Mills' home for wayward youth, and you know you can't stay for long (she has enough on her plate), but she's invited you in and that's something.

You follow her into the kitchen. She hands you a beer without asking if you want one, and you take it graciously. You ask her about the girls and she brightens like any mom might when talking about her kids. "It's all work and school and boys." she says cheerfully. "Well, not Claire, of course. She hunts herself ragged, but she's happiest that way, so what can I do?"

You smile slightly at that. It is nice to know that there is a family here that has held itself together, regardless of how many broken pieces make up the puzzle.

You don't dare to hope that this might exist for you again someday.

She talks for awhile more about the girls, but doesn't let you avoid the real question for long. "Why are you here, Castiel?" she asks softly.

"Jack and Mary. Did they -?"

"Yes, Sam told me. I'm sorry for your loss. I know she meant the world to you guys, and sounds like that boy - Jack - did too."

You squeeze yours eyes shut and try to keep the flood at bay. "It's my fault. I should have told them that Jack wasn't well, that he might accidentally be a danger to himself and others but..."

"But you didn't."

"But I didn't. And now they're gone and _he_ wants nothing to do with me."

Jody doesn't ask who 'he' is. She doesn't need to. You wonder how much she's seen and felt and guessed about the two of you. But she clearly knows enough.

"Well, I can't promise you he'll come around, Cas. He's hurting bad, and God bless the kid, but he's not good at dealing with his emotions in a healthy way. I think you of all people probably know that."

"I know," you say. _God, how you know._

"Tell you what. It's a pretty full house but we've still got couch space. And well, I guess you don't even need it, do you? You don't sleep, right?"

"Not so much."

She smiles. "Either way, stay here for a bit. Just give him some time."

You're not sure time will ever be enough to fix this, but you don't mention it. "Thank you, Jody. You don't know how much this means to me."

"Yeah I do, Cas. I have three girls who've all had varying degrees of heartbreak. Not just boys, either - lost family, lost friends, the works. You're not the first wounded warrior to come here, and you won't be the last is my guess."

And you know that this why you sought out Jody Mills. She's got experience in anchoring the untethered, and patching holes in sinking ships until they're seaworthy again. You don't know if it's enough for someone like _you, _but it's something, at the very least.


End file.
